


Closet Monsters and Cocoa

by were_lemur



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Kid Fic, Nightmares
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-11
Updated: 2016-05-11
Packaged: 2018-06-07 19:49:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6821662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/were_lemur/pseuds/were_lemur
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam's daughter has a nightmare.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Closet Monsters and Cocoa

It's almost 4am when his daughter's scream wakes him up. Since her second birthday, they've mostly retired the baby monitor; she usually sleeps through the night, and she's in a big-kid bed so she can come and get one of them if she needs them.

The raw panic in her voice gets him moving; he's in her room before the scream ends. Dean is only half a step behind him.

Roberta is sitting up in bed, pointing at the Ikea wardrobe that serves as her closet with one shaking hand.

"What's wrong?"

She raises her hands to head-hight, spreads her fingers wide, bares her teeth; the sign for monster. Points at the closet again.

"You want me to shoot it?" Dean asks.

Roberta nods vigorously. The look on Dean's face is priceless. Sam wishes he had a camera so he could show Eileen -- except she'll probably kill him herself, for not waking her in that one heart-stopping moment when he thought their daughter was in real danger.

Sam thinks fast. "You should go to get the special closet-monster killing ammo."

"I'll, uh, I'll do that." Dean slips out of the room.

Sam takes his daughter into his arms. She's shaking; for her, the closet monster is every bit as real as a wendigo or a ghoul or a vampire.

"Baby Birdie," he whispers. "You're safe in here. Nothing can get you in here. Your mom and I and your Uncle Dean will protect you." Sometimes comforting lies are better then hard truths. There will be time for those later, when she's grown up. For right now, he just wants his little girl to feel safe. "You know we'll never let anything hurt you."

"I know," she mumbles.

"You want some hot cocoa?"

"Yes."

"Yes, what?"

"Yes, _please_!"

He settles her on his hip and carries her to the kitchen. Dean usually handles the cooking, but Sam's picked up a few standbys. He pulls out the cocoa powder, the milk, the vanilla and the salt, and then retrieves the milk from the fridge; no powdered mix for his little girl.

"When I was your age, and your Uncle Dean was six, he used to make hot cocoa for me." He wouldn't tell her, not yet, about the cheap motel rooms, the store brand mix that always tasted watery, even when Dean had put two packets in.

He hadn't realized until years later than Dean must have been drinking plain water so that he could have that treat.

He whisks the ingredients together carefully. "Do you want to use your big-girl mug tonight?"

Roberta nods.

He sets her down on the edge of the table, and brings down her two-handled mug and a teacup for himself. He fills both of them, and hands Roberta hers. He runs water into the saucepan before joining Roberta back at the table. 

Even as she's drinking her cocoa, her eyelids are starting to droop. The adrenaline has run out; she's about to fall back to sleep. She finishes quickly, and holds out the mug to him.

"You didn't spill even one drop," he says. "I'm so proud of you. You're getting to be such a big girl. Now, let's get this cleaned up and put away so that we don't make Uncle Dean sad."

"Okay." 

He washes the dishes, and hands her a towel; she proudly dries her own cup. He wipes down the sink and picks her up again. She snuggles against his shoulder as he carries her to her room.

"Stay with me?"

The parenting books he and Eileen have read by the crateload (two researchers raising a kid, of course they did the background reading) all say that this is a bad idea. But he thinks of his daughter, pointing, shaking, at the closet, and feels himself weaken.

"Just this once," he says, and sits with his back against the wall; his feet would hang off the end if he tried to lie down. "In the morning, you can ask Mama to make a warding sigil in the closet to make sure the monsters stay away."

She snuggles up against him, eyes closed. He feels her breathing get slower, deeper. The rhythm of it soothes him as well, and he's asleep almost as soon as she is.


End file.
